Just a young Irish girl, looking for somewhere to share my poetry.

He paused,
Taking a moment
To glance in the mirror
And check himself over.

His top hat was tilted
At just the right angle.
White gloves encased
Baby-soft hands.
They had never seen
A proper day’s work.

His shirt was fastened
Almost all the way up.
The very top button was
Open, to let a little
Fresh air in.

His sardanapalian suit
Was just the right shade
Of grey for this season.
He smiled; a tight lipped
Smile, well-suited to his
Aristocratic background.
And just before he
Headed out, he bent down
To rub a mark off his shoes,

And made a mental note
To fire whoever had polished them
When he came back.

Sorry there was no poem yesterday, but I had a pretty hectic day, and I was feeling particularly uninspired. Also, the word was cunctation. How am I supposed to write a poem with that word in it?
Ah well. See you tomorrow!